


Death In The Afternoon

by Huggle



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Close Calls, Gen, Hurt Illya, Hurt/Comfort, Napoleon to the rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-08-15 04:23:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8042491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Huggle/pseuds/Huggle
Summary: Napoleon really needs to have a word with Peril over this obsession with drowning to death.





	Death In The Afternoon

**Author's Note:**

> And now I have two brilliant fandoms! This was written for today's theme over at Comment Fic.

“Damn it, Peril,” Napoleon said. “If there was ever a time and place _not_ to die on me, this would be it. And what is it with your obsession with _drowning_!”

It was no easy task to haul two hundred pounds of soaking wet, unconscious Russian out of a bath tub, but he managed. Putting said soaking wet agent down gently on the bathroom floor was beyond him, though, so he had to settle for dumping him roughly before his back and his muscles gave out.

The injection mark on Illya’s neck was red and enflamed, which explained the how, Napoleon supposed. There were few people skilled enough to get the better of his ill-tempered partner, but it would all be moot if he wasn’t able to do something about it.

He pressed his ear to the Russian’s chest, heard the slow stubborn thud of his heart. It figured that Illya would hold on to the last, but then Napoleon hoped his proximity to the room when things had taken a turn for the worse would be a point in their favour.

He tilted Illya’s chin back, scooped his finger in the man’s mouth to clear it out and make sure his tongue was flat and then breathed twice into him.

Illya’s chest rose and fell, but didn’t rise again.

“Come on, you oversized grouch,” Napoleon demanded. “Do you have any idea what Gaby would do to me if I came home without you?”

He exhaled into his mouth again, again, again, broke off to check there was still a pulse, and then suddenly Illya spasmed, and flailed, and Napoleon barely avoided catching a blow to the face that would have knocked him flat.

“It’s me, Illya!” He threw himself on top of the Russian, aware only the other man’s condition allowed for him to be pinned by body weight. “For God’s sake, stop before you do both of us damage!”

Illya slumped back, panting, but Napoleon didn’t miss the way his muscles stayed taut until one large hand came to rest on the back of his neck.

“Cowboy,” he wheezed. “You and water for me – not a good combination.”

“Then I suggest you stay out of bathtubs at three in the afternoon.”


End file.
